  “Sir William Fawcet, the successor of Lord Townshend, was one of the most honourable of men; and he is worthy of particular notice, from the credit that his nomination did to the government of this country. He was friendly, benevolent, patient, and even humble; which rarely [Pg 365] indeed is the case with men exalted from an inferior condition to professional honours, and dignity of station, such as never could have entered into their expectations when they began their career. Sir William is said to have opened his military life in the ranks; but by his bravery, diligence, and zeal in the service, as well as by his integrity, temper, and prudent conduct, to have mounted entirely by merit to the summit of his profession; regularly acquiring the good-will and favour of his superior officers, till he obtained that of the Commander in chief;[77] through whose liberal recommendation he rose to the countenance and patronage of his Majesty himself. “He was as firm in probity and honour as in courage. I never knew a man of more amiable simplicity, or more steady temper. Madame Geoffrin, of Paris, used to say of the Baron d’Holbech, that he was simplement simple. If such a phrase could be naturalized in English, it would exactly suit Sir William Fawcet: and the suavity of manners he acquired by frequenting the court, though late in life, was certainly extraordinary. Marbles and metals very difficultly receive a polish after being long neglected, and exposed to corrosion; but when the intrinsic value is solid, the external, sooner or later, always manifests affinity.”
In a memorandum of 1805, is this paragraph: “Lady Bruce,—after I had nearly transcribed two huge folio volumes of music, or, rather, on music, Sala’s Regole di Contrapunto, which I thought Lady Bruce had only lent me, and which I had therefore returned; sends me them back, telling me she had brought them from [Pg 366] Naples purposely to put them into my possession, and only wishing they were more worth my acceptance. What ill usage!—The books, indeed, tell me nothing I did not know, and are nothing, with all their value, to me, compared to her ladyship’s goodness and kindness. They are, nevertheless, the best digested course of study on counterpoint that have, perhaps, ever been written; and my collection of books on music would be incomplete without them.”
The severe disappointments, with their aggravating circumstances, that repeatedly had deprived Dr. Burney of the first post of nominal honour in his profession, which the whole musical world, not only of his own country, but of Europe, would have voted to be his due, were now, from the Doctor’s advanced stage in life, closing, without further struggle, into inevitable submission. Yet his many friends to whom this history was familiar, and who knew that the approbation of the King, from the earliest time that the Doctor had been made known to His Majesty, had invariably been in his favour, could not acquiesce in this resignation; and suggested amongst themselves the propriety of presenting Dr. Burney to the King, as a fit object for the next vacancy that might occur, in the literary line, for a pension to a man of letters. And, upon the death of Mrs. Murphy, Mr. Crewe endeavoured to begin a canvass. But an audience with the King, at that moment, from various illnesses and calamities, was so little attainable, that no application had been found feasible: weeks, months again rolled away without the effort; and nothing, certainly, could be so unexpected, so utterly unlooked for, in the course of things, as that Dr. Burney, the most zealous adherent to government principles, and the most decided enemy to democratic doctrines, should finally receive all the remuneration he ever attained for his elaborate workings in that art, which, of all others, was the avowed favourite of his King, under the administration of the great chief of opposition, Charles Fox.[78] So, however, it was; for when, in the year 1806, that renowned orator of liberty, found himself suddenly, and, by the premature death of Mr. Pitt, almost unavoidably raised to the head of the state, Mrs. Crewe started a claim for Dr. Burney.
Mr. Windham was instant and animated in supporting it. Mr. Fox, with his accustomed grace, where he had a favour to bestow, gave it his ready countenance; the King’s Sign Manual was granted with alacrity of approbation; and the faithful, invaluable Lady Crewe, while her own new honours were freshly ornamenting her brow, had the cordial happiness of announcing to her unsoliciting and no longer expecting old friend, his participation in the new turn of the tide. It was Lord Grenville, however, who was the immediately apparent agent in this gift of the Crown; though Charles Fox, there can be no doubt, had a real share of pleasure in propitiating such a reward to a friend and favourite of Lord and Lady Crewe; to settle whose long withheld title was amongst the first official acts of his friendship upon coming into power. The pension accorded was £300 per annum, and the pleasure caused by this benevolent royal act amongst the innumerable friends of the man of four-score—for such, now, was Dr. Burney—was great almost to exultation. And, in truth, so little had his financial address kept pace with his mental abilities, that, previously to this grant, he had found it necessary, in relinquishing the practice of his profession, to relinquish his carriage. Such news, of course, was not trusted to the post of Paris; and it was long after its date, ere it reached the Parisian captives. Nevertheless, in this same month of May, 1806, Dr. Burney, the octogenaire, as he now called himself, confided, upon other subjects, to a passing opportunity, a long letter to Paris; written in a strong and firm round hand; the following pages from which, evince his unaltered disposition to cultivate his natural gaiety with his social spirit of kindness: “To Madame D’arblay. * * “I have so much to say, that I hardly know where to begin. * * * “At the close of this last summer, I took it into my head that the air, water, rocks, woods, fine prospects, and delightful rides on the Downs, at Bristol Hotwells, and in their vicinity, would do my cough good, and enable me to bear the ensuing winter more heroically than I have done what have preceded it; for since the Influenza of 1804, I have dreaded cold, and night air, as much as they are dreaded by a trembling Italian greyhound. Do you remember Frisk, the pretty little slim dog we had, as successor to Mr. Garrick’s favourite pet, Phill? who always pestered Garrick to let him lick his hands and his fingers,—till Garrick, though provoked, could not, in the comic playfulness of his character, help caressing him again, even while exclaiming, when the animal fawned upon him: ‘What dost follow me for, [Pg 370] eh,—Slobber-chaps?—Tenderness without ideas!’ Well, as chill am I now as that poor puppy, Frisk,—though not quite as tender, nor yet, I trust, as void of ideas. “Well, to the Hotwells at Bristol I went; and took with me Fanny Phillips. And we both took Evelina, as many of its best scenes are at the Wells and at Bath. However we devoured it so eagerly on the journey, that we had only half a volume left when we arrived at No. 7, on Vincent’s Parade; where we were sumptuously lodged; and Fanny Phillip’s maid went to market; and our landlady dressed our dinners; and, as I had my carriage, and horses, and servant, we did very well: except that we were too late in the season, for we had not above three balmy days in our whole month’s residence. “I liked little Evelina full as well as ever; and I have always thought it the best—that is, the most near to perfection of your excellent penmanships. There are none of those heart-rending scenes which tear one to pieces in the last volumes of Cecilia and Camilla. They always make me melancholy for a week. But, for all that, Fanny Phillips and I proposed going through the whole while at Bristol, for our social reading. However, it was not possible; for we could never procure the first volume of Cecilia from any of the Libraries. It was always, as the Italians say of the English when they vainly try for admission, ‘Sempre not at home!’ “I made an excursion to the city of Wells for one day and night, to see its admirable cathedral. The Bishop, Dr. Beadon, is an old musical acquaintance of mine, of thirty years’ standing. He wished me to have remained a week with him. And I should have liked it very well,—‘ma!—ma!—ma!’—as the Italians say, I have no weeks to spare!”
The health and spirits of Dr. Burney were now so good, that he seized another opportunity for writing again, in the same month, to his truly grateful daughter: “12th October. “My Dear Fanny, “Do you remember a letter of thanks which I received from Rousseau for a present of music which I sent him, with a printed copy of The Cunning Man, that I had Englishized from his Divan du Village? I thought myself the most fortunate of beings, in 1770, to have obtained an hour’s conversation with him; for he was then more difficult of access than ever, especially to the English, being out of humour with the whole nation, from resentment of Horace Walpole’s forged letter from the King of Prussia; and he had determined, he said, never to read or write again! Guy, the famous bookseller, was the only person he then admitted; and it was through the sagacious good offices of this truly eminent book-man, urged by my friends, Count d’Holbach, Diderot, &c., that the interview I so ardently aspired at was procured for me. Well, this letter from the great Jean Jacques, which I had not seen these twenty years, I have lately found in a cover from Lord Harcourt, to whom I had lent it, when his lordship was preparing a list of all Rousseau’s works, for the benefit of his widow; which, however, he left to find another editor, when Madame Rousseau relinquished her celebrated name, to become the wife of some ordinary man. Lord Harcourt then returned my letter, and, upon a recent review of it, I was quite struck with the politeness and condescension with which Jean Jacques had accepted my little offering, at a time when he refused all assistance, nay, all courtesy, from the first persons both of England and France. I am now writing in bed, and have not the original to quote; but, as far as I can remember, he concludes his letter with the following flattering lines: “‘The works, Sir, which you have presented me, will often call to my remembrance the pleasure I had in seeing and hearing you; and will augment my regret at my not being able sometimes to renew that pleasure. I entreat you, Sir, to accept my humble salutations. “‘Jean Jacques Rousseau.’ “I give you this in English, not daring, by memory, to quote J. J. Rousseau. It was directed to M. Burney, in London; and, I believe, under cover to Lord Harcourt, who always was his open protector. But is it not extraordinary, my dear Fanny, that the most flattering letters I have received should be from Dr. Johnson and J. J. Rousseau? I can account for it in no other way than from my always treating them with openness and frankness, yet with that regard and reverence which their great literary powers inspired. Much as I loved and respected the good and great Dr. Johnson, I saw his prejudices and severity of character. Nor was I blind to Rousseau’s eccentricities, principles, and paradoxes in all things but music; in which his taste and views, particularly in dramatic music, were admirable; and supported with more wit, reason, and refinement, than by any writer on the subject, in any language which I am able to read. But as I had no means to correct the prejudices of the one, nor the principles of the other of these extraordinary persons, was I to shun and detest the whole man because of his peccant parts? Ancient and modern poets and sages, philosophers and moralists, subscribe to the axiom, humanum est errare, and yet, [Pg 373] every individual, whatever be his virtues, science, or talents, is treated, if his frailties are discovered, as if the characteristic of human nature were perfection, and the least diminution from it were unnatural and unpardonable! God bless you, my dear Fanny. Write soon, and long, I entreat.”
In this same, to Dr. Burney, memorable year, 1806, he had the agreeable surprise of a first invitation from Mr. West, President of the Royal Academy, to the annual dinner given by its directors to the most munificent patrons, capital artists, distinguished judges, or eminent men of letters of the day, for the purpose of assembling them to a private and undisturbed view of the works prepared for forming the exhibition of the current year. By that grand painter, and delightful man of letters, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Burney, from the time of their first happy intimacy, had regularly been included in the annual invitations; but Mr. West was unacquainted, personally, with the Doctor, and had, of course, his own set and friends to oblige. What led to this late compliment, after a chasm of fourteen years, does not appear; but the remembrance occurred at a moment of revived exertion, and the Doctor accepted it with exceeding satisfaction. Nevertheless, the opening of the account which he has left in his journal of this classic entertainment, is far from gay: “My sight was now,” he says, “become so feeble, that I knew nobody who did not first accost me; and my hearing so impaired, that it was with difficulty I caught what was said to me by any of my neighbours, except those immediately to my right or my left. “At the Royal Academy this year, I was placed near my son Dr. Charles, and Loutherbourg, who served me as a nomenclature, and I was happily in the midst of many old as well as new friends and acquaintance; particularly the Bishops of Durham,[79] Winchester,[80] and London,[81] and Sir George Beaumont. “I went early into several small apartments, previously to entering the great room; and luckily, in the first I entered I came upon Sir George Beaumont, who most kindly, politely, and with cordial courtesy, accompanied me during the whole review; always, with unerring judgment, pointing out what was most worth stopping to examine. He was enthusiastically fond of Wilkie’s famous piece. “Mr. Windham here came forward in the highest spirits. I never saw him more animated, even when conversing with favourite females. I eagerly made up to him with my thanks, both to himself and Mrs. Windham, for their zeal and activity in my affairs.[82] ‘Yes, yes,’ cried he gaily, ‘in zeal we all vied one with another.’ [Pg 375] “It had rained torrents all day; but I had promised, not expecting the continuance of such weather, to go from the exhibition to the opera, to join Lord and Lady Bruce; who wanted to make a convert of me to their favourite singer, Grassini; but in descending the endless stairs, I was joined by my benevolent neighbour, the Bishop of Winchester; who, perceiving how cautiously I made my way, seized my arm, and insisted on conducting me; and when he heard my opera engagement, he dauntlessly, though laughingly, ordered away my carriage himself, and helped me into his own; promising absolution for my failure to Lady Bruce, but protesting he could not, and would not, suffer me to go any whither such a desperate night, from home; whither he drove me full gallop, setting me down at Chelsea College, in his way to Winchester House. More kind and cheerful benevolence never entered man’s heart, than is lodged in this good prelate’s.”
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